A Nude Story
the light blue sea marks a boundary with a mild wave and foam
along the sands of the shore two white empty benches hold a pink bikini and a white swimming trunk
at the other side of another empty beach chair,
is the bra
the calm sea erases the footsteps towards it
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
Winter Is White
WINTER IS WHITE
Winter is white
.......dogwood white
..............forgetfulness
......... ..........an empty slate
Winter is windy
.......windless words
..............empty words
....................drifting aimlessly
Winter is cold
.......deedless words
..............barrenness
............ ........suffering cold
What sound goes there?
What meaning fills the void?
These white lies of life
...............blown sands –– no trace
.....................................–– no path
.....................blindness––no seeking
...................................... ––no faith
No seeing here
No leading love
White and no light
White and no sight
White and no flight
- March 6,2008
poem by Ben Gieske
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How Many Grains Of Sand Are There On The Beach?
we are on the beach
it is a very bright and warm day
the coconut leaves are cooling us
the shade is comforting
the sands so white
the sea is crystal blue
the sea gulls are singing
colored fishes come up from time to time
hiding in the corals
if you want to know how many grains of white sands
are there on this beach
begin the count
for the meantime
we are taking our much needed plunge
we leave you for a while
enjoy yourself.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Yes, Let The Sleeping Dogs Just Lie Peacefully On The Beach
yes, mr. clark,
let the sleeping dogs just
lie peacefully on the
white sands of the beach
let them sleep well
to the songs of the
sea breeze
let the waves be
gentle and
let the one who
thinks so well
have that clear and calm
eye
let him pass
his way and let his footsteps
every footstep
be erased by the winds
by the waves of the
gentlest sea
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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How to make your wishes come true
She liked white and had not said a word yet
On her tenth birthday
she stood on the red steps
of the red opera house
-the red opera house on the north side of Sydney Harbour
almost opposite the white opera house
She scattered orange petals, yellow petals, green leaves and spoke
in a light blue voice
A bird of navy blue pink and gold feathers stood by her. Was this the grateful bird? Purple gold and white danced
She said
white stillness, pure gold, purple wonder, gold strength, pink joy, pink infinity, navy blue now, strong indigo blue, light blue fountain, the green first reason, compassionate orange, endless yellow,
royal red, single red, free orange, free yellow, green depth as clear as crystal, all attractive light blue, strong indigo blue, strong navy blue, pink wishes, gold compassion, compassionate purple,
gold of golds, of creativity, white of whites, gold truth, purple mentor, funny gold, pink friend of children, navy blue of nature,
indigo blue knowledge, light blue song of nature, green creation, yellow in senses, orange guide, red way, red inspirer, orange giver, yellow help, dazzling green, light blue of the delicate, with indigo blue eyes, navy blue good, with pink kind eyes, golden hair, golden complexion, purple complexion, gold warmth, of white space, white and gold love, of all purple knowledge, gold presence, pink in thunder and storms, navy blue pleasure, indigo blue beauty,
light blue lines, all attractive green, of yellow stirring music, of orange, red refuge, clear red, orange orange, yellow yellow, with green giving hands, of green, light blue truth, indigo blue essence, navy blue sparkle, pink with gold, purple guide, gold here, here white, white is the sun with penetrating vision, purple and golden constant winner, gold reach, of all pink, infinite navy blue, indigo blue knowledge, light blue care, deep green in greens, orange truth, dedicated to yellow, red peace, red glory, orange beauty, yellow, of green and light blue evenings, handsome indigo blue, intelligent navy blue, pink of pinks, of gold golds, purple purple, gold friend,
openness, formless white and gold, prevailing purple, efficient purple, purple origin, purple form, gold and permanent pink, navy blue belief, indigo blue blue, dense green, orange, yellow, red friend, red
and fell silent
Are the colours telling us that reciting the girl's words could make all our wishes come true? What else do red orange yellow green light blue indigo blue navy blue pink gold purple gold white know?
Today is a Monday
poem by Bhupen Thakker
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Sea Flower
sea flower
that fell on the white sands of the shore
beside my footsteps
her petals
entangled on some twigs
her scent spread out
thinly
the sea breeze takes
it away
as i sit merely watching
and then
the morning light comes
warming my
cheek
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Ocean Breeze
As I look out at the ocean
As I drive down the coast,
All I can see is a little bit of white and the rest nothing but blue,
Only thing that this scene can bring is nothing bad, but to boast.
By this bringing nothing, but the deep beauty to me and you.
Enjoying everything such as the white waves crashing into the rocks at the ocean,
And feeling the Ocean Breeze as it shot past us further than anything else can reach.
This is when all you can hear is nothing but water as it is motion.
Causing me to want get out of the car and walk down on the beach,
And to the foam builds up as the wave starts to hits its crest.
As the beach sand stuck to the bottom of my feet,
Or as I stopped and dug down in the sand to search for that sunken treasure chest.
Feeling that wave
Or as it knocked you over down on your seat.
This something that a lot of people will never hear or see.
And this is why the Ocean Breeze and Scene means so much me
By Frank Pulver
poem by Frank Pulver
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Sea-Shore Musings
How oft I’ve longed to gaze on thee,
Thou proud and mighty deep!
Thy vast horizon, boundless, free,
Thy coast so rude and steep;
And now entranced I breathless stand,
Where earth and ocean meet,
Whilst billows wash the golden sand,
And break around my feet.
Lovely thou art when dawn’s red light
Sheds o’er thee its soft hue,
Showing fair ships, a gallant sight,
Upon thy waters blue;
And when the moonbeams softly pour
Their light on wave or glen,
And diamond spray leaps on the shore,
How lovely art thou then!
Still, as I look, faint shadows steal
O’er thy calm heaving breast,
And there are times, I sadly feel,
Thou art not thus at rest;
And I bethink me of past tales,
Of ships that left the shore,
And meeting with thy fearful gales,
Have ne’er been heard of more.
They say thy depths hold treasures rare,
Groves coral—sands of gold—
Pearls fitted for a monarch’s wear
And gems of worth untold;
But these could not to life restore
The idol of one home,
Nor make brave hearts beat high once more
That sleep beneath thy foam.
But I must chase such thoughts away,
They mar this happy hour,
Remembering thou dost but obey
Thy Great Creator’s, power;
And in my own fair inland home,
Mysterious, moaning main,
In dreams I’ll see thy snow-white foam
And frowning rocks again.
poem by Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
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A View
driftwood
with seven twigs
on the shore
as clear as glass
is the water
and all stones and pebbles
are visible
above
blue skies
so blue that the white cotton clouds
appear like sperm cells moving
impregnating
an earth-sky womb
and then
it rains
the water rises
the drift wood again taken
floating
gently to another shore
another island
of white sands
a coconut tree towers
to reach a waft of cloud
winds as cool as ice
sands slipping on the fingers
a leaf from a guyabano tree falls
on the mouth
of a sleeping woman
beside her
the man whose arms are enclosing
her throughout
the rainy night
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Vision in White and Blue
The eyes, the blue, the smile
The skin, the hair
Those socks, prim, upright
Spectacularly beautiful; the blue, the pink
The breath, the ripples, the heart pounding
The arm, protective, the nibbling kisses
That short sleeved shirt; white
Spectacularly beautiful; the almost transparent, the so light brown
The mouth, the saliva, the other's mouth
The exchange, the lips
The spit; dripping down
Spectacularly beautiful; the red, the pink
The white, the hand, shy, the delicate nod
The revelation, the shiver
Sleek; strokes as satin
Spectacularly beautiful; the pure white, the pink
The rhythm, the fingers, the dance
The music, the twisted lip
Faster, relentless, the smile
Spectacularly beautiful; the blue, the pink
poem by Timothy Marshal Nichols
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On The Shore
One child on the shore
With a stick on his hands
Writes on the sands
Some drawings
Playful
A wave comes and slides
On the shore
The drawings are gone
And a new slate is given
By the water that runs
That advances to him
And later surrenders to itself
Another young man
Draws a heart on the sand
Swearing a love eternal
All encompassing
A wave slides forth
And comes back pulling towards itself
A new slate is made again
The old man comes later
Writing his life story with a cane
The same wave comes again
Slides forth and pulls itself
An empty slate
Sand so smooth and blank and plain
Gleaming anew
To the blue skies
Everything looks playful,
Indeed. The sameness and the
Constant repetition. The cycle.
The monotony of life.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Bikini
Dressed in her bikini,
sipping a martini
she drew the looks of every roving eye.
A white sandy spot,
the sun so hot
her skin was burned by and by.
Stripped of her bikini,
still sipping a martini
she saw her mirrored image in the night.
Two strips of white appeared,
her skin had been seared.
Her natural bikini was quite the sight.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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So Long
'you want your
coffee black or white/'
'white.' he answers
and your president?
'well after Obama'
he answers;
'i dont mind whether
he is black or white.'
'why? he has always
been white, ' I say
'Well, paradigm shift.
crossing that boundary
between white and black.
so long for us to cross
a boundary inside us.'
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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The White Birds
I WOULD that we were, my beloved, white birds on the foam of the sea!
We tire of the flame of the meteor, before it can fade and flee;
And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low on the rim of the sky,
Has awaked in our hearts, my beloved, a sadness that may not die.
A weariness comes from those dreamers, dew-dabbled, the lily and rose;
Ah, dream not of them, my beloved, the flame of the meteor that goes,
Or the flame of the blue star that lingers hung low in the fall of the dew:
For I would we were changed to white birds on the wandering foam: I and you!
I am haunted by numberless islands, and many a Danaan shore,
Where Time would surely forget us, and Sorrow come near us no more;
Soon far from the rose and the lily and fret of the flames would we be,
Were we only white birds, my beloved, buoyed out on the foam of the sea!
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Empty Ocean
Upon the empty ocean,
Across the empty sea,
A little man treads water,
That little man is me.
I feel cold and forgotten,
What keeps me going on?
So easy just to let go,
And sink down to the bottom.
I'm swimming for my life,
Completely lost at sea,
Swimming in betrayal,
Of what she did to me.
It's hard to think so clearly,
When trust and love has gone,
And nothings left but my boys' smile,
And a voice that says 'Hold on! '
poem by Phillip Alan Green
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Death...
i lift an empty conch
near my hear
i hear songs and i
carefully listen
and i close my eyes
and see places
i see emptiness
i feel the fullness
barefoot i walk on the
white sandy beach
i left the empty conch
and carry something else
my heart understands
my face nods
my body is light
and the sun is bright
the air is salty
God is mighty.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Acting
we may pretend
sometimes that i am this handsome guy
and you are this beautiful woman
we go to the beach
i am wearing my white speedo
and you are in your red bikini
a two-piece suit
we imagine we stroll the beach one fine day
holding hands
and then we sit on the white sand
your head in the embrace of my strong arms
i encircle your body and i look to the blue horizon
and dissolve my thoughts
you smile
& you close your eyes and feel the joy of loving
we imagine
there is only the two of us in this island of desire
we kiss and we hold each other tight
we feel so close
and we make love under the moon
i feel your heart beating inside my heart
and i say i love you and you say you love me too
we imagine a lot and
try this fantasy for once
sometimes i ask: why don't we make it true?
these feelings inside us may burst
soon i tell you
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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White Sea
white sea spreading before me
so silky
tiny ripples of the wind
from a far
bringing some stories
from the other island
some leaves fall from
the pitogo tree
some flowers pink and white
lay on the shore
white sands of silence
and peace
seeping in my skin
i am barefoot
i am naked down to the waist
i am waiting
for the sun to descend upon the bosom
of the horizon
i am dreaming of palm trees
soft winds
of summer
a door opens in my mind
i get in
stepping into something new
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Midwinter's Day in the Botanic Gardens
Hippophae
with clusters of orange berries
on spiky twigs.
Set in this ancient, yellowstone wall,
which separates the formal walks
from the marsh garden to the south,
is the gateway (with gate long gone) .
At its base, nerines – all mauves and reds –
spill over on straight, green stalks.
Topping the pillars sit carved capitals
from which grin down and stare
weathered, lifeless heads,
green-grey
like the day.
The sandstone rockery is winter-bare,
the benches empty, paths sodden with trampled leaves;
the gunmetal surface of the rounded pool
dimpled with bedraggled water lilies.
Squirrels chase, birds chatter amongst the pink viburnum
and the yellow Chinese winter jasmine,
with its tiny six-petalled flowers.
Pink and white prunus
clusters on spindly twigs
just as it does on Chinese porcelain.
Energetic buds of magnolia
press upwards and away
from the old, warped trunk
that shelters by the yellow wall.
A yew tree,
planted during the civil war,
has marked the passage of time in inches
and now stands forty-odd feet high
topped by a first-year magpie.
Time is also tracked by deep bells put forth
by Magdalen’s pinnacled Tower to the north
and answered (out of time)
by Merton’s to the west.
Yet, today, nowhere among man’s handiwork
and mindwork
is man to be seen.
Magdalen Bridge is still and silent.
Punts empty and unmoving.
Blue and green. Dull and wet.
Waiting for summer.
The very images of men, the statues,
have disappeared from recessed arches
behind great terracotta pots
decorated with cornucopia.
To the east the Cherwell’s winter waters pass.
The cricket ground,
with its white and brown pavilion,
its motionless rollers painted bright blue
and green, sodden grass,
is empty under this dull and pewter-coloured sky,
the faintest luminescence shining through.
Over three centuries ago
this medicinal garden was created ‘to cure all ills.’
It has not yet quite accomplished that.
poem by Brian Taylor
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Under your spell
Passers by will strain their necks
on the beach
and like fools
stop and stare at your beauty
and maybe you will wear
a one-piece swimsuit
or a tiny bikini
and it would be black,
or bright blue or red
and maybe white.
Men will stay men
be dressed in swimming trunks
and some will wear only jocks
and all of us will have lumps,
some with ruffled hair and freckles
like men do
and I will parade you proudly,
receive a smile and kiss,
rub lotion on your brown body
and we will lie in the sun
and later will bath in the swell,
swim with the waves
in the cold Atlantic
and I will be under your spell
and you might love me still.
poem by Gert Strydom
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There’s a big painting
There’s a big painting of a girl
with a light pink skin
that lies on a white skin cloak
in front of a dark pool,
where snow white water lilies drifts
and I can see into her soul.
I have felt like taking the fan
next to her
and to wave her cool
yet she looks fragile
and self-possessed and calm,
where she lies with her peach pink dress
looking at me
and I wonder for whom she is waiting
and why the door behind her
of which the steps goes into the pool
are always locked?
[Reference: Painting of a girl at a pool by Mandi. See the painting at my webpage: http: //www.mabooki.com/poems/display/1412_There_is_a_b ig_painting.htm]
poem by Gert Strydom
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